How Watson Learned the Trick
by ButterscotchCandybatch
Summary: Dr Watson is trying his hand at not only seeing, but observing. Based on the ACD canon story of the same name, this is just my idea of how Sherlock and John might have gone about it. If they had their minds in the gutter, that is! Very firmly MA rating for smutty Johnlock content. Currently a small series of scenes. COMPLETE, for now.
1. Chapter 1

**How Watson Learned the Trick**

_No warnings on this one. I don't warn for smut, I assume that's why you are here!_

* * *

John leaned his elbows on the bar and adjusted his position slightly, improving his view of the door in the mirror behind the bartender. He caught himself rubbing the empty place on his left ring finger for the third time and picked up his beer glass instead. He had worn the wedding ring for less than a year, yet he missed it terribly since taking it off.

He took a sip of his beer and refrained from checking the time. He had deliberately come down to the bar early to allow himself time to settle down before his contact arrived. He knew without looking the positions of the two exits to the street, the door to the kitchen and to the men's room. He was as ready for this meeting as he would ever be.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the door to the local open and close. He knew immediately from the man's height that this was his contact, and he could feel anticipation coiling in his gut. What sort of man would he be? Easy to fool, or smart? Would he be posh and classy or someone ordinary looking? It was impossible to know. His contact would be in disguise anyway.

He sensed without looking that the man had taken a position at the other end of the bar, too far away for casual conversation. Damn. It would be up to him to initiate contact. He suppressed a sigh.

Then, reconsidering, he sighed aloud and looked impatiently at his watch. He turned around and looked at the pub door with ill-concealed dissatisfaction and clicked his tongue with frustration. He saw his movements catch the eye of the man at the end of the bar.

John turned towards the stranger and gave a rueful smile. "Looks like I've been stood up."

The man shrugged without giving a verbal reply, tossing his head as if to say, "Why should I care?"

Double damn. Why couldn't his life ever be easy? John picked up his almost-full glass and waved it at the man. "Join me for a beer for half an hour? We're both here anyway and it's a shame to drink alone."

"Why not?" the man replied, "I'm more of a vodka drinker though." As he came closer, John's eyes widened involuntarily. The man was tall, as previously described, but apart from that he looked nothing like what John had subconsciously expected. He was wearing a tight black tee-shirt that showed off his build, although John noted with disapproval that the line of his shoulder was slightly spoiled by a cigarette packet tucked into the sleeve. His eyes were drawn to the large silver belt buckle, but he forced them back up to the man's face. He noted in passing that the man was not wearing jeans, but dark cords. The exact colour was difficult to make out in the dim light of the bar, but either a deep red or brown and they clung to his long legs, making them look like they went on for decades.

The man looked a good ten years younger than John, although John knew he couldn't possibly be as young as he appeared. His skin was very pale, making his long black eyelashes a stunning frame for his incredible bright green eyes. Was he wearing a touch of eyeliner? Contact lenses, had to be. No-one's eyes were that colour naturally. The bright green drew the eye and held it, making the rest of the man's face blur into indistinctness.

John realized with a start that he hadn't answered the man's implied question. "Sure, whatever you like. I'm John Morstan, by the way." He held out his hand.

The man took it in a firm grip. His hands were soft and warm and much larger than John's own. John wanted to feel them sliding up under his shirt. Later, he promised himself. Work first, play after.

"William Barlow."

No real names were being used tonight, it appeared. "So, William, what do you do with yourself when you aren't hanging around in bars?" John allowed his eyes to slide away, as if the answer didn't matter at all.

"I'm a dentist."

John allowed one eyebrow to rise. This had to be a test. Such a claim was frankly unbelievable, but why? Why? John racked his brain to put together the clues his subconscious was telling him were there.

"I find that rather difficult to believe, considering you have ink stains all over your right hand. Dentists wear gloves, and these days they rarely hand write their notes anyway." John ground to a halt. What else? There was something else… Ah, he had it!

"And you would never get away with a cat hair on your shirt in a dentist's office." John leaned forward and picked a white cat hair off William's shoulder. "The dental nurse would have a fit."

William gave a soft murmur of appreciative acknowledgement. "So then, John, are you some kind of private investigator, then?"

"No," said John with a smile, "I'm a consulting detective."

William looked surprised for a moment. "You just made that up - there's no such thing."

John shrugged but did not deny the charge.

William shot him a sly glance, then asked challengingly, "So what _is_ my job then, Mr Detective?"

John tried not to panic, instead giving the man a long, cool once-over. "A job mostly alone, or someone would have noticed the cat hair, you might even work from home. That would explain both the cat hair and the casual tee-shirt, which is much too tight for most offices."

"How do you know I didn't go home and change after work?" pouted William.

"Not possible given the time of day and the state of your shoes," shot back John immediately. "You do something with writing, but I don't think you are an author… freelance editor would be my guess."

"Well done, John! What else can you discover about me just by looking?" William turned more fully to face him and spread his hands in sarcastic surrender. John took the move as an invitation to slide closer.

"I can see that you are very fit. Lean though, not bulky so I guess either a runner or a swimmer, not a gym junkie. More likely a runner, with hair like that you wouldn't want to get it wet every day. You smoke, but you don't drink much and you watch what you eat." John was very close to William now, close enough to see that not only was he wearing eyeliner but he had on a full face of makeup. It was subtle but definite.

John dropped his voice to an intimate whisper, "You're here to find a gay hook-up, and you find me attractive. You'd like to take me back to your place and shag me senseless."

John leaned back slightly and said in a more normal tone, "So tell me, am I wrong?"

William leaned over him, using his height to his advantage. He spoke in a low voice, "Completely right. Am I going to get lucky?"

John turned back to his beer. "Not just yet, we have some more information to exchange first."

William chuckled slightly, deep and low in his chest. "That's a yes, then. Let's go, we can talk more in the taxi."

John frowned. "I haven't finished my drink yet, and you haven't touched yours."

"Oh, very well," William sighed. He picked up his vodka shot and tossed it back. He replaced the glass on the bar, and as he did so the gesture caused the light to catch on a gold ring on William's left hand. Was he wearing a wedding band?

At John's involuntary stare, William followed his gaze. "The wedding ring?" William shrugged. "I could take it off, but I figure that if it doesn't bother me it shouldn't bother you."

The bartender had been hovering near them in case they wanted to order another drink, but seeing William's posture and closeness to John, he gave them a look of disgust and moved away again. John had no difficulty deducing that he had no problem with two men getting together, but that he thought John was a home wrecker seducing a married man. Or else that a married man had no business cruising a bar looking for men to pull. Not enough data to know for sure. Anyway, this wasn't what it looked like, so the bartender was wasting his energy disapproving.

William reached out with one long finger to caress the white band on John's tanned left hand. "So what's your sad story, then?"

John shrugged with one shoulder. "The usual. We drifted apart. Mary and I used to work together but then she got fed up with the dreadful hours, the getting called away in the middle of the night, and so on. One day I got back after a long case and she was gone. Left a note saying that I could find her if I really wanted to."

"But you didn't really want to?"

"I think that's enough about my ex-wife. I'd rather talk about you and your… work. Working from home must give you lots of opportunity to make… online contacts."

William shrugged non-committally. "Not the kind of contacts I can talk about in a public place. If you want the kind of information I think you want, we need to go somewhere more private." He raised one sculpted eyebrow inquiringly. "And what are you prepared to give me for it?"

"What do you want?" John equivocated, and from William's frown, knew instantly he'd made a mistake. Damn. He should know already what William wanted. He ran quickly through the usual motivations of men, searching for clues to the best fit. Drugs? Unlikely. Money? Maybe. Political influence? No, nothing about this man spoke of an interest in either politics or blackmail. Sex? Yes, definitely. Well, John had no problems offering that, but he had better not seem too eager.

"Let me make a few suggestions," he murmured. "We can go to the loo here and I can suck you off while you tell me about three of your online contacts, or we can go back to your place and for half an hour alone on your computer I'll do whatever you like for an hour."

William licked his lips, but was obviously playing it cool. "If my computer is locked, half an hour won't do you much good. It will take you longer than that to crack my password. What if I had some of my contacts on a USB, together with the supporting data to prove their involvement? What would that be worth to you?"

John tilted his head as he considered the offer. It was true he was not as good at deducing passwords as Sherlock, and that time would have to be subtracted from his half hour. He should have asked for an hour. Anyway, supporting data would be worth a lot. "How many contacts on that USB? If it is more than ten, you can come back to my place for the whole night."

"Done." William turned and strode out the door, leaving John scrambling to catch up.

John hit the footpath outside the pub just as a taxi pulled up in front of William. He slid into the back without checking to see if John was behind him. John leaned forward and instructed the driver "221 Baker Street" then sat back and tried to catch his breath. This was all going much faster than he had anticipated.

William looked at him, then slid across into the middle seat so that his long thigh lay against John's shorter one. "Baker Street? Nice part of town. I like that." William breathed in John's ear, his voice low and so soft that John only just caught the words, "I like you."

John smirked a small smile, "I bet you say that to all the boys."

William sighed warmly against John's cheek, "No, only the ones I intend to make long, slow love to for the whole night…"

John turned to face William properly. "What would your loving spouse say to hear you talking like that?"

William chuckled low and dark. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him. Besides, he'd probably enjoy watching us together. I think we will look lovely together, don't you?"

The taxi lurched to a halt before John could reply.

"Baker Street" said the driver, shortly. John paid, then unlocked the front door and gestured for William to precede him inside.

He froze when he heard Mrs Hudson's voice call out "John? Is that you?"

Shit! This could to ruin everything! He gave William a sharp shove in the middle of the back to get him moving up the stairs and turned to face Mrs Hudson, just coming out of 221A.

"Mrs Hudson," he exclaimed with slightly overdone friendliness. "Was there a message for me?"

"Yes, dear, a package actually. I'll just get it for you." She peered up the stairs as William disappeared around the corner. "Was that a new client? Shall I bring up some tea and biscuits?"

"No thank you Mrs Hudson, you're not our housekeeper. I'll do the entertaining. A new client, yes, in a manner of speaking."

"Oh, very well. It's no trouble though. I have some of that fruit cake that Mycroft likes so much."

"Just the package, thank you. It's a bit late for cake."

"Goodness yes, so it is, but your clients call at all hours, don't they? I remember that Henry fellow, came so very early, quite uncivilised…" She disappeared into her own flat and John breathed a sigh of relief.

The package was a simple folder of documents, probably just his copy of the transcript of his last testimony for Lestrade. He escaped upstairs with it and tossed it on the kitchen table without opening it.

Before he could turn around, he was trapped against the table by a long body being pressed firmly against him. He could feel something else long and firm being pressed against him too. Time to get back to the game.

"Nuh-uh," he warned. "None of that. I don't put out until you do."

"What?" There was a low laugh from behind him but the pressure against his body didn't ease. "And after you promised to 'entertain' me too! You don't trust me?"

"No," replied John shortly. "You haven't even told me your real name."

William shrugged, as he backed away. "You haven't told me yours either."

John feigned a wounded innocent look. "You just heard my landlady call me by it!"

William snorted. "Easy to set up. Anyway 'John' is about as anonymous as it is possible to be in London. You could be using your real first name and a fake surname."

John tried not to look annoyed as he folded his arms over his chest. "Anyway, names aside, is this deal going down or not? Time to cough up or leave."

William smirked, "Going down? Well yes, that's the question isn't it? Do I get a free sample first?"

"Nope," John smiled. "It's all or nothing around here."

"Fine, let's get on with it then." William fished around in his jacket pocket and produced a USB which he threw down on the kitchen table. "That's your half of the bargain, now I want what's mine."

John snatched up the memory stick and ducked around the other side of the table. "Just as soon as I check what's on here. You can go to the bedroom and undress if you like." William stared at him stonily. "Or not."

John opened up his computer and plugged in the USB, quickly opening the files and checking that they contained readable information. He had been fooled before with empty files, this time he was going to take the extra minute to check… yes, names and details all present and correct.

William's astonishing green eyes were watching his every move. "Satisfied?" he finally remarked, "Can we get on with the good bit now?"

John closed his computer and took William's hand. "Of course. The bedroom is this way."

John led the way and guided William to sit on the edge of the bed. It was rather nice being in charge for a change. Sherlock was always so bossy.

John dropped his voice to his lowest, sexiest register. "Take your clothes off slowly, then lie back…"

"And think of England?" interrupted William, snidely.

"You're a filthy traitor to England," said John flatly.

William shrugged carelessly. "It's a living. But since I'm paying a lot for this encounter with you, I expect you to do all the work. So go ahead; entertain me." He shed his clothes quickly, then lay flat on his back on the bed, his arms spread out, apparently submissive except for a challenging expression and a raging erection.

"Oh, don't worry about that," said John, naked himself now, as he crawled up over William's body. "You just let me explore your body and I will deduce what you like best. I'm the Consulting Detective, remember?"

William hummed a wordless response and closed his eyes.

John took his time, working his way around William's long expanse of lean torso and belly with light touches of his fingertips and tongue. William's right nipple was more sensitive than his left, convenient for John's dominant hand. With fingers and tongue John teased both nipples into little peaks, then leaned up and bit William's neck, soothing the spot immediately with his tongue. Yes, William liked that, arching his back and jerking his hips up to try to come into contact with John somewhere.

"Ssshh, wait for it," John murmured softly, "You'll get it when I decide you are ready for it."

"M'ready _now_," whined William. John chuckled, "Oh, we aren't half-way there yet. Unless…" he paused, "I could give you a little tease now, just so you know exactly what you are waiting for?" Without giving William time to answer John slid down his body and took William's fully erect cock firmly in his hand. He closed his lips over the head and gave three firm strokes with hand and mouth, then released both and quickly moved away. William groaned, his hips thrusting into empty air.

"You are eager," chuckled John, "Been too long, has it? Nobody wants to jump into bed with their fence?"

William scowled. "Is that memory stick the only kind of stick I'm going to be able to give you? I was promised entertainment, and I wasn't thinking of stand up comedy."

"Awww, little Billy doesn't like waiting, is that it?" mocked John. "Don't worry, it will be worth the wait." John trailed his fingernails lightly down William's long lean body, down the outside of his thigh to the knee, then dragged his nails excruciatingly slowly up the insides of William's thighs. Sliding down to reposition himself, John used both hands to anchor William's hips firmly to the bed. Then he leaned down and breathed lightly over the tip of William's leaking erection. It jumped in response, as if hoping to leap into his mouth. John laughed a little to himself. He enjoyed being in control and he was going to torture William until they were both aching.

John applied his tongue ever so lightly to the underside of William's erection, flicking the tip over the head, breathing, touching and teasing until William was gasping and trying to buck John's hands off his hips.

John slid up to lie next to William again, and whispered breathily in his ear, "So, how would you like to do this? I'm not promising you'll get what you ask for, mind, I'm just interested in your opinion on what you might like."

William's unholy green eyes burned into his. Odd colour. John decided he didn't like it. He liked pale blue eyes, like ice but with a strange warmth given by the little gold flecks that were only visible very close. Only the Welsh word _glas_ ever really captured their unique beauty. Damn, William was talking and he missed it. Ah well, he could guess from the suggestive drift of William's hands down his body what he wanted.

"Very well," said John aloud, "I intended to get a leg over tonight anyway, it might as well be now."

Suiting action to words, John swung himself up so that he was sitting across both of William's thighs, but slightly further back, so that their groins were not quite touching. Rolling his hips he ground down, rutting against William's leg and moaning provocatively.

"Little cock-tease," breathed William.

"It's only teasing if I don't follow through," replied John with a smirk.

John leaned forward and spread himself skin to skin over William's chest, rubbing their chests together for a moment. Then, having secured what he needed from his bedside table, he sat up again.

William eyed the large dildo warily. "And what exactly do you plan to do with that?"

"Oh, don't worry, sweetheart," said John, quickly lubing it thoroughly. "This isn't for you. It's for me."

He slowly but smoothly worked the length of it into himself, rocking his hips and sighing out the tension in his body to ease the penetration. As he rolled his hips, his eager cock brushed against William's erect prick a few times, causing them both to groan.

"I… was promised entertainment," gasped William, "and so far it looks like you are having more fun than I am."

"It'll be worth it, just don't rush me." John snapped. Bloody inconsiderate bastard.

Once the dildo was firmly seated, John pushed his hips forwards and rubbed lightly against William, then with more pressure. Finally, he brought his already wet hands up and grasped both of their cocks, pushing them together as he pumped his hips. They moaned in unison at the delicious friction the movement created.

John could feel William's large hands cupping his arse, urging him to go faster and harder. John pushed the pace, and as he did so, felt William's right hand drifting down to the base of the dildo.

"Yes," John hissed, "Fuck me now."

William did not need to be told twice. He wrapped his long fingers around the dildo and moved it slowly in and out of John's body. Due to the angle, he wasn't able to move it very far, but John found that if he used his thigh muscles to lift up slightly, then relax down again he could let his body weight drive it into his body very satisfactorily. He only needed to lean forward a fraction more, just to get the right angle… The head of the dildo pressed solidly into his sweet spot, and John heard a hoarse cry escape his lips. He rose up and slid down again. God, that was fantastic.

William seemed to be getting into the groove too, and he had taken over stroking their dicks at some point after John's focus had become distracted. He was setting up a very nice counterpoint rhythm to John's rise and fall, and John could feel the eager heat coiling tighter and tighter in his core. He wanted one more thing before the big finish though.

"Want to feel you," he gasped. "Come and take me."

William gave a low groan, as with a dextrous twist of the wrist he slid the rubber cock out of John's body. "Oh yes, that's what I want,' he replied, as his hands on John's arse pulled him further up his body and into position. John held his body poised just at the tip of William's dick, but with too much tension in his legs for William to force him down onto it. William's hips were anchored to the bed by John's weight, though he tried to thrust up to enter John.

"Come on, what more do you want?" William growled. "You are not exactly in a position to demand more information from me."

"I just wanted to show you who is in control here," said John sweetly. "I'm on top and you love it, don't you? You're desperate and gasping for the sweet release that I'm going to give you, aren't you? You crave me and all you can think about is when am I going to let you worship my body properly, isn't that right? Say it."

"Oh God," rumbled William from beneath him, "Yes! Yes, to all of it. Anything you want, just let me have you right here, right now."

John hovered, teasing, for a few more breaths just letting the tip of William's cock rub at the entrance to his body, until he couldn't stand it any more. Then he drove himself down until William was fully sheathed inside him.

They both groaned at the sensation of deep penetration, deep connection.

"Oh yes, so good."

"Just like that, oh God, more…"

John was almost sobbing with need, and when William stroked his cock with a twist of his wrist around the head, he was gone. He felt his whole body clenching around William as the pleasure ricocheted through his body, and William grunted with surprise beneath him, then groaned and John felt William's hips jerk up involuntarily as lightning whited out his vision.

John collapsed forwards onto William's chest, pressing his cheek to the slightly sweaty skin there and hearing William's heart thundering under his ear. He vaguely regretted being so absorbed in the moment that he had missed William's climax, but after a shattering orgasm like that "regret" did not seem exactly the right word to be using.

William's hands were wandering over his back and arse with light touches, as if memorizing every bit of his body. He was murmuring soft words that sounded like "amazing" and "fantastic" and John wanted to just lie still and bask in the unusual sentiment of the moment.

After a few minutes of basking, he realized that he was getting cold and sticky. He shifted his hips slightly and felt William slide out of him, followed by the inevitable gush of wetness which John always hated. He winced and with a last kiss and a sigh, he reached over for the box of tissues beside the bed and started cleaning them up.

* * *

John woke curled up on side with his cheek resting on a bare warm shoulder. This was nice. His pleasant drowse had been broken by the shoulder in question moving slightly under his cheek and threatening to dislodge him. He slapped the bare chest under his head and grumbled "Hold still. Sleeping."

The movements stopped for a moment, then resumed more stealthily. He opened his eyes to see a long arm reaching into the clothes on the floor and groping around for the cigarette packet.

He sat up, instantly fully awake. "Sherlock! Don't you dare smoke in here!"

Sherlock returned a cheeky grin. "Staying in character? Don't you think 'William' would want a post-coital cigarette after a fantastic shag like that?"

John rolled his eyes. "Forget it. No way." He yawned and stretched, then reached into his own bedside drawers for his wedding ring. He slipped it on with a sigh of satisfaction. Remembering, he looked up at Sherlock. "Why did you leave your wedding ring on, by the way? That bartender thought you were having an affair."

Sherlock lay back against the headboard of their bed and pulled John down to rest against his chest again. "A married man looking for a quick tumble is too common to be remarked on, and the kind of thing that causes people to look away as quickly as possible. An empty space where a ring has been removed requires explanation, as you discovered earlier tonight."

John groaned. "Do we have to do the full debrief right now? Can't it wait until tomorrow morning? I'm tired, and you need to take off all that make-up and those ridiculous contact lenses."

Sherlock pouted, "They are not ridiculous! One really remarkable feature draws the eye and the memory. Nine out of ten people who saw me tonight will describe me as a 'young man, bright green eyes' so I wash off the makeup and take out the contact lenses and voila - I no longer match that description. The simplest disguises are the best."

John sighed. "All right, if we have to do it now just give me the bad news and get it over with. Did I give myself away at all?"

"Actually no. I think it was a good decision going with 'John' as a first name. An inspired selection by your parents - they must have known you were going to get into trouble. And 'Morstan' is close enough to 'Watson' that your instinctive response to it works as well as if it were your real name. Good choice. I thought you were going to panic when Mrs Hudson came out unexpectedly, but you finessed it well enough."

John grinned and punched Sherlock lightly in the ribs.

Sherlock kissed his forehead quickly in return. "You did a fairly good job on me…"

John interrupted him with a kiss and a salacious grin, "It certainly sounded like it!"

Sherlock gave a mock-frown. "John, be serious please! You didn't fall for my 'dentist' assertion, and this time you remembered to check the product properly before jumping into bed. You got three of my planted clues - the cat hair, the shoes and the ink stain. There were seven more that you missed."

John groaned.

"Never mind, John. It's a very simple trick, learning to observe as well as to see. With a little more practice I've no doubt you will soon acquire it. For next Friday's date night I think we should go a little down-market. There's a place near the docks, I'll text you the address. Your contact's name is Captain Basil…"

THE END

(of the first scene)

* * *

_A/N: I have a second scene in mind, but nothing after that so for this story series only I am open to suggestions. If you have a particular scene you'd like to see John and Sherlock acting out, leave me a review! Comments are love!_


	2. Chapter 2

**How Watson Learned the Trick - Chapter 2.**

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade stretched his back and groaned. It had been one of those cases and one of those days. It was "obviously" a suicide and not at all interesting, according to his consulting detective. Which was all very well for said consulting detective, but no help at all to Greg, who did not have the freedom to pick and choose which cases he would solve.

After several hours of supervising information gathering (and its attendant paperwork) Greg was tired, bored and stiff. He was also tired and bored stiff of the whole case, and just wanted to get home to his flat. Ideally there would be a cold beer and a warm Mycroft waiting for him at home. Hell, while he was dreaming why he didn't he add that he wanted a warm shower, spicy Indian food, hot kisses and a steamy back massage that morphed into a red-hot front massage…

Greg's neck cracked as he rotated his head, and he remembered that he wasn't twenty any more. Hell, he wasn't_ forty_ any more. Never mind, if he got his hands on Mycroft's arse he was confident they would work it out.

While he thought, Greg's feet had carried him outside to where he had left the car. He stared at the empty space where he had parked the police van, as he suddenly remembered giving the keys to Donovan to take a few critical pieces of evidence to the lab at 4:30pm, to get them processed before everyone went home.

He groaned. This was the other side of town from his flat, and not a particularly savoury area. Given the time of night, should he spring for a cab? Mycroft wouldn't mind paying, he was sure, but Greg had lived a long time on his own income and his wits, and frugal habits died hard. Besides, he might pass an Indian take-away on the way to the Tube station and that would be part of his daydream taken care of. Greg set off with the economical loping stride of an experienced beat officer.

After walking for fifteen minutes in the dark, and the beginning of a light rain, Greg was seriously reconsidering his options. Taxi home and calling for dinner to be delivered was sounding increasingly attractive. Except of course that there was not a cab to be had in this part of town. Greg sighed, pulled up his collar, and kept walking.

Finally, he spotted a small local shopping strip containing the traditional red and yellow lights of an Indian restaurant. On closer inspection, it appeared to be Sri Lankan. Whatever. If it had curry in it, he was willing to eat it to drive away the chill settling into his bones.

Inside the spicy scented heat of the restaurant he loosened his scarf and coat collar. Despite its plain facade, this place was larger than it appeared from the street. There were several couples out for a late Friday night dinner, and one group of what appeared to be actual Sri Lankans having some kind of party. That was a good sign; the locals being prepared to eat here. His evening was looking up.

He ordered at the counter, including a pastry-looking thing to nibble on while he waited. It was incredibly hot and spicy on the inside, mainly containing some kind of vegetable curry. His attention was fully occupied for a few minutes in juggling the pastry so as not to burn his fingers, while simultaneously trying to eat it without burning the inside of his mouth.

By the time he had attention to spare for looking around, he was enjoyably warmed inside and his tongue was just pleasantly scalded. The selection of magazines by the waiting chair were particularly out of date and ratty, so he decided to scan the customers eating instead. Perhaps he could get some tips about what to order next time.

The Sri Lankan party was sharing hoppers filled with various curries which smelled eye-wateringly hot, even at this distance. There were a few couples eating variations on curry and rice. In a booth at the back a blond man and his date were also having the hoppers. Obviously that was the local specialty and maybe next time…

Wait… was that _John? _

Greg looked more closely at the blond in the back booth and he was about to stride over and join him, when he registered the presence of a woman in the booth opposite John. The body language of the couple struck him like a blow to the face. Was John _flirting?_

Red hot rage boiled up in his gut as he watched them, quickly picking up a copy of a three year old knitting magazine to hide his face. John and Sherlock had been married just over a year - in fact, he had been to their anniversary party just last month. They were sickeningly sweet together, and Greg privately agreed with Mycroft that John was the best thing that had ever happened to Sherlock.

Until now.

Greg felt sick. He had been gutted when he caught his wife cheating on him, and it had taken all of Mycroft's friendship and reassurance to even get him to go out as "just friends". Of course, it had developed from there and now they were practically living together - they just alternated whose house they were living in.

But he shouldn't jump to conclusions. He lurked behind the magazine, watching closely for signs that this was John's sister, his aunt, his boss, his personal trainer - anything but what it looked like. The woman was wearing a large hat and was seated with her back to him, which was fortunate because it gave him a good view of John's face. He could not hear what they were saying at this distance, of course, but John was smiling, leaning forward and stroking her hand in way that spoke not of friendship but of seduction. It was impossible to miss that John's eyes lingered on the woman's breasts more than they had any right to do.

The final clue was when he stood up and faced John squarely. John paled guiltily and darted his eyes around the room as if looking for an escape. He leaned across the table and whispered urgently to the woman, then stood up and came to greet Greg.

"Hi Greg! I was… um… not expecting to meet you in this part of town. Got an interesting case on?" John was overtly friendly, but appeared nervous. He checked his watch twice and over his shoulder once while Greg explained that he was just wrapping up a suicide case a few streets away.

"Going to call Sherlock about it?" asked John. Clearly he was not paying attention, as Greg had just told him that Sherlock had turned his nose up and called it a "two".

"Yeah, that's a good idea. I think I will call Sherlock. Right now actually. I'll tell him you said hello, shall I?" Greg tried to convey a warning to John in his tone.

"Sure, sure, good idea. I'll just head back to my hoppers before they get cold," replied John absently.

"Don't want to introduce me to your date?" inquired Greg coldly.

"My date?" squeaked John. "This isn't a date! It's a… uh… an old friend. From medical school."

Greg just raised one eyebrow skeptically.

John flushed bright red. "No! I'm not… I mean, you can't meet her because… um…"

Greg flourished his phone. "John, how could you? I'm calling Sherlock right now!"

"Oh God, wait! Wait just a minute!" John rushed back to the table and spoke urgently to the woman. She stood up (showing an incredible stretch of long leg beneath the hem of her little black dress) and Greg thought for a moment that she was about to leave, but instead she suddenly pulled John's face towards her own and kissed him soundly, leaving dark red lipstick marks smeared all over his face. Then she coolly gathered up her handbag and turning her back on them both, walked off to the ladies' room leaving John at their table sputtering and trying to clean his face with the thin restaurant paper serviettes.

"Well, that explains everything!" raged Greg. "How _could_ you, John? You were Sherlock's best friend, his _only_ friend and now his husband as well! How could you throw it all away like this?"

"This isn't what it looks like!" replied John defensively. "Call Sherlock, I don't care."

"I'll call your bluff and do exactly that," Greg retorted. He stabbed the redial button on his phone and waited for it to ring. Sherlock, rather unusually, picked up immediately.

"If this is about that suicide, Lestrade, I'm going to start charging you for my time." Sherlock's calm, bored voice had a strangely echoing quality, as if he was leaning over the kitchen sink or something. Greg could not imagine Sherlock doing the washing up, so he decided to ignore the odd sound quality and move right along to the important information.

"Did you know that John is out on a date with a woman?" Might as well start with the facts, Sherlock usually appreciated facts rather than theories. He would deduce his own soon enough.

"Yes, what about it?" was Sherlock's impatient response. "He's under cover, collecting information for me. I hope you haven't ruined his disguise?"

Oh. Oops. Still, Greg was unutterably relieved to find out that his friend was not cheating on his, well, whatever Sherlock was to him. De-facto-brother-in-law, if there was such a thing.

"I… er… no. I don't think so. The lady has just left the table, I don't know what John said to her."

Sherlock gave a dry chuckle. "Don't worry about it. Good exercise for the student to see if John can dig himself out of the hole. Better leave before she comes back though. Don't make John explain a police officer showing up on his stakeout."

"Yes, of course. I mean, no, I won't. Bye." Greg hung up.

John's face was now relatively clean. He gave Greg a guarded look from under his brows.

"Sorry mate, Sherlock explained that you're under cover."

"Um, yeah. Yes, of course." John still looked uncomfortable.

"And that I should leave before I blow your cover story, so I'll go."

"Thanks, Greg. That probably would be best. I'll see you later, yeah?" John looked relieved. More relieved that the situation seemed to warrant. And if he was under cover for Sherlock, why hadn't he just said so in the first place? Something still wasn't right.

"Tell Sherlock I'll drop in for breakfast tomorrow, all right? I expect you to be there and no women in the flat."

"Fine, fine. No problem, see you tomorrow." John still appeared anxious.

Greg gave him a reassuring smile and walked up to the counter to collect his dinner. John's gaze followed him all the way out the door.

Outside on the footpath, Greg hesitated. Something was still not right. Would Mycroft know? He hated to interfere, but he would hate even more to see his friends' marriage ruined. He hadn't become a Detective Inspector by ignoring his instincts, and his gut was telling him there was more here than met the eye.

Anthea answered the phone with a simple, "Yes?" If you had this number, you were expected to know whom you were calling.

"It's Greg, is Mycroft free?"

"Sorry no, not unless it's urgent?"

"No, no, that's fine. Tell him I'll see him at my place when he's done. It will keep."

Anthea made an appreciative noise and hung up, leaving Greg with no more information than previously. He glanced back into the restaurant, where John and the woman appeared to be having a furious whispered argument.

John was leaning across the table, his face red, and he appeared to be trying to control his temper. The woman was slightly more visible than she had been when Greg had been inside the restaurant, but she had on a large hat which shadowed most of her face. All he could really make out was full red lips and a long, elegant neck with a black ribbon choker necklace. Oddly formal for a meal at a down-market restaurant, actually.

Then, right in front of Greg's incredulous eyes, the woman picked up her water glass and threw it full in John's face. She snatched up her handbag and walked towards the door. Greg turned and quickly walked away in the opposite direction. He didn't think she had seen him. As soon as she was out of the restaurant, she threw up her hand and got into a cab.

Once she was gone, Greg hurried back into the restaurant to check on John. "Mate! Are you all right?"

John was resignedly wiping his face again. "Yeah, it's fine. Never mind. The whole thing had gone to hell anyway. I think I'll just go home. See you tomorrow."

Greg shrugged his acquiescence. It hardly seemed necessary anymore, but maybe he could run some of his evidence past Sherlock and get some hints while he was there. Sherlock could never resist showing off.

Greg started down the street towards the Tube station. He checked the temperature of his dinner. Damn, now he was going to have to reheat it.

* * *

John slammed the door as he got back to the Baker Street flat. He was _not happy_ and Sherlock was going to know about it! The public argument and parting had been necessary to convince a lurking Greg that he wasn't cheating, they had both agreed on that point, but the water in the face had been completely gratuitous! And the fake argument wouldn't have been needed at all if Sherlock hadn't pulled that stupid stunt with the lipstick in the first place.

John stormed into the living room. "You enjoyed that," he said flatly.

Sherlock had already removed his makeup and was lounging on the sofa with his dressing gown wrapped tightly around himself, a cup of tea at his elbow.

"Damn right, I did," Sherlock smirked. "It's not often we get to have a bit of genuine drama, is it? Mostly only you and I know the virtuosity of our performances. I thought it would be a rare thrill. Or do you get water thrown at you by women often?"

John rolled his eyes. "No, I don't. Only by consulting drama queens."

Sherlock frowned. "I object to your allusion to the term 'drag queen' in this context." His expressive lips made a moue of distaste. "I was in _disguise_, and I think I make a very natural-looking woman, if I do say so myself. Nothing to be done about my height, I suppose, and it's a pity I can't wear heels, but I rather like the way my legs look in stockings, don't you think?"

John snorted. "Yeah, very nice. I like a good set of pins." He rolled his eyes again with derision. "Anyway, every girlfriend I've ever had has complained something awful about wearing heels, so I don't think you are missing much."

John wandered into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. He called back over his shoulder, "Lestrade mentioned a case, did he call you about it? Or was he too busy boiling over with indignation on your behalf about my 'affair'?"

Sherlock barked a short laugh. "He had called me earlier about that case. A two at best. No, he just wanted to give me a heads-up about you. Thoughtful of him, really. Since his wife left he's a bit hypersensitive to the whole 'breaking vows of lifelong fidelity' thing."

"Oh really? Wonder why?"

"Probably because Mycroft is wondering how to propose to him."

John choked on his tea. "What? How do you know?"

"John, please! Didn't you see the looks they were giving each other at our anniversary dinner? Mycroft is dying to ask Lestrade to marry him, but he won't because he thinks Lestrade is too damaged and commitment-shy and will say no." Sherlock paused reflectively for a moment. "He's right, of course. It is much too soon for Lestrade to leap into marriage again."

John sighed. "That's a shame, because they would be great together. Lestrade brings out the best in Mycroft. Relaxes and humanizes him somehow. And Mycroft, er…"

"Has no redeeming features, I know."

"I wasn't going to say that! I was just looking for a delicate way to say he's tall, dark, handsome, intelligent, powerful, successful and rich. Except that I wanted to find a way of saying it that wouldn't make you jealous."

"I'm not. I'm the interesting one in the family."

"Yep. You call it that, if it makes you feel better."

Sherlock pretended to pout. "I'm not going to complete the exercise with you now. You'll never know what you missed out on."

John flopped onto the sofa with a sigh. "That scene went down the toilet anyway, I think I'm just going to have an early night."

Sherlock raised one eyebrow, suggestively. "You aren't curious for what I had planned for when you got your information out of me? You know I always prepare for these scenarios very… thoroughly."

John sat up suddenly. "You were dressed as a woman… completely?"

"Yep." Sherlock popped the final consonant with relish. "Still am, actually."

John narrowed his eyes thoughtfully as he surveyed Sherlock in his dressing gown. "Would that include, by any chance, lace knickers?" John reached out and took a gulp of his tea, without taking his eyes off Sherlock.

"You'll just have to do some investigating, won't you?" said Sherlock with a saucy wink over his shoulder, as he sauntered casually towards their bedroom.

John bolted the rest of his tea and ran after him.

* * *

John skidded into the bedroom, expecting to see Sherlock draped enticingly over the bed wearing _(please God let him be wearing)_ lacy black lingerie. However, there was no consulting detective to be seen anywhere. The bedside lamp was on, casting the room in a dim golden glow and the light was on in the bathroom, so John sat on the bed and took his shoes and socks off and tried to be patient. After a moment he removed his pants and trousers as well, just keeping his shirt to preserve his modesty.

After a few minutes, Sherlock emerged from the bathroom. He had restored his woman's clothing from earlier in the day and was once again wearing the black lace shift dress. His silhouette against the lighted bathroom doorway suggested he was also wearing a padded bra. He stalked towards the bed, where John sat paralysed by sheer desire. A waft of perfume swept over John as Sherlock came to stand in front of where John was sitting on the edge of the bed. It was smoky, spicy, musky and completely edible.

Sherlock's voice was not exactly high-pitched, but somehow _lighter_ and more feminine. John had no idea how he achieved that effect.

"So, John. How can I thank you enough for helping me escape those dreadful men? They were gambling for my hand, as if I were no more than a chattel to them! I, Violet Smith, who have been an independent music teacher and beholden to no man all my life!"

Ah. The case. John had almost forgotten it. He hadn't _quite_ solved it when their dinner had been interrupted by Lestrade, but obviously Sherlock thought he had done well enough to be rewarded with the traditional conclusion to their little 'exercises'.

"You're gorgeous," whispered John, "I've never wanted any woman the way I want you. Would you let me… admire you?" John reached out and pulled Violet closer, until she was standing between his knees and he could slide his hand up under the hem of her dress. Mmm, yes, she was wearing stockings. He let his fingers explore the warm, firm flesh above the top of the stockings, then continue to wander up over the lush curve of her backside. He toyed with the lower edge of her lace panties.

"Oh yes," she breathed in return, "I like to be admired, especially after I've gone to so much effort to look pretty for you."

"Come here then, darling, and let me appreciate you properly." John scooted back onto the bed proper and held out his hand for Violet to join him. She took his hand delicately, and let him guide her across the bed, until she sat warmly astride his thighs, her dress riding up her long legs tantalisingly.

"What a honey you are," murmured John, allowing his hands to roam freely over her bottom, waist and up to her breasts. He squeezed there gently, causing Violet to lean forward and press them more firmly into his hands. "I want to get a better look at you, please?"

Violet reached around and slid down the zip at the back of her dress. She shrugged slightly and the straps slid down off her shoulders, but the dress snagged on her strapless bra, leaving her with bare shoulders but enticingly still covered breasts. She shimmied her shoulders a little, and the dress fell away into a puddle of black lace around her waist.

John stared unabashedly at her breasts, in the black lace bra. He reached out and massaged them, enjoying the weight and texture of them. He had no idea how Sherlock had achieved that effect, but he was going to make the most of it. It had been a long time since he'd had the chance to get his hands on a nice pair of breasts.

"May I?" He slipped his fingers under the bra strap at the back, but Violet shook her head.

She leaned down to whisper in his ear, "I'm shy."

The breasts were probably attached to the bra then, and to remove it would destroy the illusion. "Of course, love, though you have no need to be. You have a beautiful body. Let me see a little more of it."

John lifted the dress over her head and tossed it down beside the bed. Oh _yes_, this was what he had been hoping for. The lacy black panties matched the bra, and the vee-shaped dip in the front of the waistband mirrored the cleavage above.

John ran his fingertips lightly over the flat front of the panties, and Violet gave a half-sob half-moan above him. "Oh John, I'm so desperate for you, it hurts."

"I'd do anything for you darling, what do you need?"

"Turn the bedside lamp down for me, please."

John leaned over to dim the lamp, and felt Sherlock rise to his knees above John. Sherlock gave a deep groan of relief as he adjusted something. By the time John looked back, there was a very prominent erection peeking over the top of the lace panties.

"Sorry," panted Sherlock, "it was just getting too uncomfortable to stay tucked up like that. Give me a minute."

"Do you want a hand with that?" John brought his left hand up to hover within touching distance of Sherlock's erect cock, but waited for a sign.

Sherlock bit his lip, "Won't it ruin the fantasy for you?"

"Not really. I only want you anyway, so both breasts and your prick at the same time is definitely getting to have it both ways."

Sherlock groaned, "In that case, oh _God_ yes, touch me."

John let his hand dive into the lacy confection, stretching it down around his wrist so that he could stroke Sherlock's erection to full hardness. Sherlock was pumping his hips into John's hand rubbing his silky-covered thighs against John's until John wondered if it was all going to be over right then. But with an apparent effort, Sherlock knocked John's hand away and took a few deep breaths.

Lightening his voice again into Violet's he whispered, "John dear, would you like to take my pussy?"

John groaned with lust, "Oh yes, my love, if you are ready for that."

Violet took John's hand and guided it to the lace, then further back and… _Oh God_, were these split-crotch panties? John could feel hot skin where his fingers had expected to encounter more lace. The idea of thrusting up into a warm body above him, while black lace edging tickled his shaft… John wondered if he would be able to restrain himself long enough to fully appreciate the sensation.

"I'm ready for you, wet and open and desperate for you," whispered Violet into his ear, leaning down and flicking open the buttons of his shirt, then letting her breasts brush against his chest.

With a whimper of need, John gripped Violet's buttocks and pulled her further forward onto his lap. He felt her tilt her hips, and then he slid in to the hilt, gasping at the sensation. She was hot and slippery and tight around him and it felt fucking _fantastic_. He closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the feel of lace under his fingers and dripping heat around his cock. He thrust up into Violet as she hovered over him, feeling the gathering tension in her thighs. She was enjoying this too.

He forced his eyes open again, to watch himself disappearing into her body, seeing their connection framed in French lace. He felt a sudden tightness gathering in his groin and he quickly reached down to stroke Violet's cock. He rubbed her erection up and down the shaft a few times, then gave a twist around the head and instantly Sherlock was groaning and spurting all over him. Sherlock's body tightened around him in spasms of pleasure and John was rocketing over the edge of pleasure and filling his lover with his seed.

Sherlock flopped bonelessly down on John's chest, pressing his breasts between them. John enjoyed their closeness and listening to their heartbeats slowing in tandem. Finally, curiosity overcame the afterglow, and he slipped one hand around behind Sherlock and flipped open the catch of the bra. Sherlock sat up sleepily, and the lace slipped off, rather bizarrely taking the breasts with it. John squeezed the bra and its contents with interest. "Hey, Sherlock, what are these? They are warm and have just the right heft and movement."

"They should be perfect, I paid enough for them. They're silicone breast forms."

"They have nipples and everything!"

"Yes, John. I wanted to give you the full 'female' experience. Next time I'll have to do better with the 'tucking' part, but I didn't quite realise how my arousal would affect the situation. Don't worry, I'll have complete control next time, you won't even know you're with me."

John frowned. There was something about the whole situation that didn't feel quite right. "Sherlock, you and I both enjoy role play, but let's not pretend it's something it isn't. I always know it's you. Whether I call you Basil or William or Violet, I only do these things because it _is_ you. I don't want to do them with anyone else. Christ, Sherlock, what do you think I am? Do you think I _really_ want to pick up random strangers in bars and take them home and fuck them?"

"No, no, not at all. That's not what I meant!" Sherlock seemed genuinely distressed by the idea.

"Lie next to me, love, and talk to me. What _did_ you mean?"

Sherlock slid off John and reached for some tissues to wipe them both down, then lay on his back looking steadfastly at the ceiling. "You gave up women when you married me, John. I know that. I didn't give up anything. I don't want you to feel that you're missing out. That you need to… um… 'eat out' for the flavours you can't get at home."

"Sherlock, listen to me," John gripped Sherlock's chin and turned his face to look directly into his eyes. "When we married we both promised to forsake all others. Let's not enter into a competition about who sacrificed more for the other. Hell, you jumped off a building for me! I can't ever compete with that!"

"I… no, it's not that. It's just that…" Sherlock was unusually tongue-tied, but John waited patiently. This was important or it wouldn't have taken so long to come out. "I don't want you to have to do without anything that you used to enjoy, when I can provide it. Think of it as another aspect to the role play. It's rather like… well, remember that time we went to a vegetarian restaurant and we couldn't even tell? The meat substitutes were so good we never even noticed? It's like that. I want to give you as many and varied experiences as possible, as authentically as possible."

"Speaking of, how did you manage such a quick penetration? I didn't see you prep at all."

"I wore a plug all evening and only took it out in the bathroom right before I came in here."

"What? You worked yourself open hours ago and put in an anal plug before we even left the flat? No wonder you were irritable enough to throw a glass of water at me when Lestrade ruined the scene!"

"I didn't want all that work to go to waste! I'll have to try a different technique for the tucking thing though. Maybe I'll use the tape next time."

"Don't bother. You with tits _and_ a prick, both wrapped in black lace… that was the hottest thing I've ever seen."

"So, do you think Lestrade would be shocked to see you having breakfast with Violet?"

"Don't you dare! I'm in enough trouble with him as it is!"

"You'll have to find another way to demonstrate what we've been up to then. He's suspicious already and he didn't become Detective Inspector by being a complete idiot. Don't tell him I said that."

"As long as you realise that it is _you_ I want. Only and ever you. I'm bisexual, but a more important part of my identity now is that I'm _monogamous_."

Sherlock had no answer for that, only kissed John over and over as they both pretended his eyelashes were not wet.

Finally John pulled back enough to speak again, "Besides, you're as high maintenance as a woman anyway, you know? You probably expect to be cuddled _all_ night, even though you steal the covers and hog more than half of the bed."

"Damn right."

"Shut up and go to sleep, you." John kissed Sherlock fondly on the forehead. "And tomorrow morning if I end up having breakfast with a dishevelled looking Violet Smith, I really will murder her."

Sherlock's eyebrows quirked with interest at the threat.

"In a totally boring, obvious and non-original way."

"Spoilsport."


	3. Chapter 3

**How Watson Learned the Trick - Chapter 3.**

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade knocked at the door of 221 Baker St at a civilised 10:30am on Saturday morning, and Mrs Hudson opened the door.

"Good morning, Inspector! Go right on up, the boys are awake."

"Good morning, Mrs Hudson, thank you. Not a late night for them last night, then?" he asked, very casually.

"Well…" she gave him a slight wink, "they came home early, but I don't think they went straight to bed. Not straight to sleep, anyway."

"There was no… er… fighting or anything, last night?" Greg hated to even think about it, but he had tipped Sherlock off about John's activities - he would have looked carefully when John got home and seen if there was anything untoward to be found. Besides, if there was any disagreement going on neither of them were the kind to keep it down for the sake of the neighbours.

Mrs Hudson looked surprised, "No dear, nothing like that since the last time Sherlock's experiment boiled over on the stove. They bicker and, well, you know how they carry on, but not last night. Last night I was quite jealous of… well, anyway, thin walls, you know."

Greg gave her a genuinely warm smile as he brushed past on his way upstairs. "Glad to hear it. Well, not literally, but you know what I mean. Those two were made for each other."

Mrs Hudson sniffed, "Shame neither of them can cook, though. If you're expecting breakfast don't be disappointed if you are only offered jam on toast."

"More than adequate. I'm really just here for Sherlock to have a look at this case file."

Mrs Hudson gave a wave and disappeared into 221A, while Greg took the stairs up to 221B. He knocked briefly, then pushed open the door. John was sitting at the (unusually clear) kitchen table with the paper open and a plate of toast and scrambled eggs in front of him.

Just then, Sherlock turned around with another plate of eggs and toast. "Ah, Lestrade. In perfect time. I see you have a case file for me?" Greg was glad to see that although Sherlock was wearing his dressing gown, he was fully dressed in a shirt and trousers underneath.

"Yes, but also I just wanted to see that you both were… all right, after last night."

"We-ell," drawled Sherlock, "John was a bit rattled after your interruption to his interrogation scene, so he didn't perform as well as usual, but I'm not going to hold it against him. He did very well under the circumstances." Sherlock turned back to the stove with a pronounced limp.

Greg blushed. He really did not need to know the details.

Sherlock darted a quick glance at him as he returned to the table with his own mug of tea. "I didn't mean _that_. I meant that I've been teaching John to deduce. He's getting quite good at it."

"It's quite a simple trick," interrupted John. "In a way, I'm surprised the public continues to be so interested in it. The method is really very easily acquired. I could probably give you a lesson if you like."

"By all means," said Greg with a wave. "Go ahead, deduce for me."

John turned to Sherlock, saying, "I'll deduce you, so Greg can see what I'm seeing. Look, Greg, and you'll see exactly what I'm pointing out. You'll also see that we didn't set this up ahead of time - I'm deducing cold, just like Sherlock does."

John stared at Sherlock a moment with narrowed eyes. "He was in a rush this morning, as he forgot that you were coming until the last moment. See how he's forgotten to shave? Yet when have you ever seen him at NSY less than perfectly clean-shaven?"

"That's true," murmured Greg. "Go on."

"Also, he has a private client named 'Barlow' but he is stuck with the case."

"How can you know that?" Greg asked.

"I saw the name on the outside of the envelope, and when Sherlock saw the letter this morning he groaned as he shoved it into his dressing gown pocket."

"Ah, yes, I can see it poking out - you're right! Gosh, you really have learned his trick! What else?"

"I'm sorry to say that Sherlock has also taken to playing the stock market, without much success. Alas, the international share market is too unpredictable to be deduced easily."

Sherlock's eyes widened slightly at this, but Greg noticed. "Didn't know John was following your every move, eh Sherlock? Well, I'm convinced. Very impressive show, John! Maybe I'll just leave this case file with you, and you can deduce it for me and drop it back on Monday. Thanks for breakfast, boys, I'd better be going. Mycroft had to go into the office this morning, but I'm hoping he'll be home in time for lunch." Greg pushed back his chair, leaving the case file on the table.

"Ah yes, my brother. Tell him I said…" Sherlock broke off and turned back to the kitchen to fill the kettle.

After a moment, Greg prompted, "Tell him you said what?"

"Nothing."

Greg rolled his eyes at Sherlock's back, then slapped John on the shoulder as he moved towards the door. "Don't get up, I'll see myself out." He headed out the door and down the stairs, whistling.

There was a short silence at the breakfast table in 221B. Sherlock had a slight smirk on his face as he returned to the table and sipped his tea in silence. John, knowing that smirk all too well, sighed deeply. "All right then, I can see you're dying to tell me. How did I do?"

"John, it _is_ a very simple trick, and I'm sure you will get it one day." Sherlock took another sip of his tea before continuing, "However, today is not that day."

Sherlock stood up and handed over his letter. "It's from _Dr._ Barlow, my dentist. I groaned because I have an appointment with him today. On the way back, I plan to get my hair cut and have a proper shave in the barber's chair, which is why I didn't shave this morning."

"Oh God, but what about the stock market? I was right about that, though, wasn't I? I saw you glance at the financial page in the paper and you muttered 'damn' under your breath, which can only mean that some of your shares have lost money."

Sherlock raised one eyebrow. "Except for the fact that that opposite the financial pages are the sports pages. I was looking to see how Surrey was doing against Kent, but they lost, worse luck, and now are out of the finals."

John was silent for a moment before he finally said, "Thanks for not ridiculing me in front of Greg."

Sherlock leaned across the table to kiss John before saying in a low voice, "It is a very simple trick, and I have no doubt you will soon acquire it. All you need is more practice. How about we go on another date tonight? And… um, John?" Sherlock stared into his mug for a moment. "Would you like to go out with Violet again? Since, you know, last night was ruined by Greg's interruption. Because I totally understand, and I want to give the breast forms another run anyway…"

"Nah, not tonight." John shrugged and had another bite of his toast. "Maybe some other time, but I've had enough of her for now. Bloody cow. Threw a glass of water in my face, you know?" he winked at Sherlock. "How about you surprise me? That's what you do best." John paused reflectively. "You know, you don't need to be anxious about women, or other men, or anyone else at all. You have an amazing…" he let his eyes drift suggestively down the length of Sherlock's body, "body part that I love and that no-one else of either, of _any_ gender can compete with."

"Oh?" Sherlock raised one eyebrow inquisitively, "And what would that be?"

"Your amazing, incredible, brilliant _brain_. I love it, and you, and the way you surprise me every day."

Sherlock looked up from his tea, finally, with the shy half-smile that John loved so much. "I've got an idea, you know. How about we don't wait until tonight, but just go back to bed right now?"

"Good idea. Not so surprising though. You'll have to work harder than that."

"Don't worry John, I plan to work you over _very well_."

John licked his lips, "Oh God, yes."

**THE END**


End file.
